What Time Cannot Heal
by HARPG0
Summary: Wolfram is injured and help must be called in so that his life can be saved. The only problem is that Murata and Shinou must face the past in order to accomplish this. And that "help" may come at a very steep price after all...for Yuuri.
1. Chapter 1

What Time Cannot Heal

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**Author's disclaimer**: Hello, everybody! Please remember that I do not own KKM, any of the characters, etc. etc. This is just for fun and no profit.

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"The soul is born old but grows young. That is the comedy of life.

And the body is born young and grows old. That is life's tragedy."

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~ Oscar Wilde

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Wolfram was lying on the stone altar, the flat surface of which was made of a single slab of roughly-hewn purplish-green sandstone. He was on his stomach and had been stripped of the remnants of his blue uniform, leaving him with only his boxers. Yuuri's mother had sent the pair for him to wear along with some casual Earth clothes that she thought were "absolutely cute." Anything that came from her Wolfram would wear out of respect and love for the woman who would someday become his mother-in-law.

"This almost does it," Murata announced, pouring the last of the ground-up chalk mixed with herbs in a wide circle around the room with the altar in the very center of his circle. He put the borrowed bucket down beside him and dusted his hands over it. Regardless, they'd probably smell like dried variegated ginger, suma root, and jeweled orchids for at least a month.

The chapel's lone priest, a stooped Mazoku with a growing bald spot on the crown of his gray head, smiled widely in approval and then reverently stepped back several paces. He was in the presence of Shinou—the greatest honor in his lifetime—and would gladly allow things to be left up to him and The Great Sage of Shin Makoku. The old man placed his hands over his heart because it was beating so fast. Those long nights of solitary prayer had finally paid off.

"What do you think?" Yuuri asked, looking a bit worried. He turned his large, round eyes from Gwendal to Conrad, seeking assurances about Wolfram. From the corner of his eye, he saw Günter's face and he felt worse. Even his white caped advisor seemed concerned. And that did not bode well. For, those two had never really hit it off to begin with.

"We'll give it our best," Murata assured, his eyes shining as he leaned down, saying words that seemed to bleed into the thin air. The tone was there but the words were impossible to make out. Maybe, it was the echo in the room.

Shinou stood back from the circle, in spirit form now, and folded his arms against his chest. This was his modest stone temple in the pine woods of Zarda. And, with great boldness, a band of Wraith Mercenaries backed by Big Cimaron had decided to make camp less than a mile from it—for one reason and one reason only.

There was no way Yuuri could stop beating himself up over this. They had enough security with them or so it seemed. Little did they realize how much danger they were in until the attack happened on the dirt road heading east to Blood Pledge Castle. It had only been rumored that transient ruffians were in the area at all.

Rumors.

Only that.

Dealing with the surviving handful who fled into the woods would now be Yozak's task. And he was quite eager to do his job.

"Ummm…Shinou Heika," Yuuri began, turning in the blond king's direction, "did you have a feeling…" Yes, that was how he'd phrase it. "…That…_this_ would happen?" If he had, everything would then make sense. That was why Murata suddenly invited himself along on this day trip to bless the peach harvest in South Sayward. And, an hour after that, while on the road, it was clear that Shinou had decided to come, too, in his doll-like form which conserved his power a great deal. He spent the majority of the ride down to the village leaning casually against the sage's cheek with a smirk while Murata's face twitched in annoyance.

It all seemed strange at the time. But, now…

"The future is never written," Shinou stated flatly and got a hum of approval from the priest who had now taken up residence in the corner closest to the door.

"Yes, I'd have to agree with that," Murata said with a thin smile on his face. "It is impossible to know for sure how things will end up."

"But, you can guess," Gwendal pointed out, not looking at either the sage or the Original King. His eyes rested on Wolfram. He went on in a more respectful tone but kept his facts clear. "Just like the two of you 'guessed' that the herbs we needed would be here and the two of you disappeared for awhile to prepare for the ceremony."

Murata laughed nervously with a hand behind his head. "But weren't we lucky? And our kind priest, here, has been most accommodating and has an excellent collection of herbs." In sagely fashion, he gave a bow to their host which was also an effort to change the subject.

Murata got a returned bow from the priest but Gwendal, much like Yuuri, could not let go of his sense of uneasiness.

"Well, the powdered mixture should be ready now that it has settled." Murata knelt down on one knee and hovered his hands over part of the circle. "Here we go." But he didn't sound certain and just when it seemed like a whole lot of "nothing" was going to take place, a light misty gray curtain began to seep up from the circular edge directly to the ceiling. It rippled slightly as though caressed by an unseen hand.

_Good…_ Murata released a breath and then put on his sagely mask again for the sake of everyone in the room. "Well, first try and everything… Wonderful… I'm glad it worked out." He pushed up his glasses on his nose.

"But, we don't know if it worked…exactly," Conrad reminded him, giving anxious looks to his baby brother who was still lying there motionless. _He must be so cold_ kept running through Conrad's mind.

Shinou raised his hands, palms outward, and closed his blue eyes—calling voicelessly. Only Murata could hear what was being said and his forced smile faltered. This next part would probably be very unpleasant. Murata could feel his heartbeat growing stronger and faster. If Shinou got his way, and he usually did, then…

From the lower back to the toes of Wolfram's body, there appeared to be a sleek, white film oozing forth. It gradually took form as it spread and, then, as the minutes passed, became supple and relaxed. It was as though a cloak had been spread across the lower half of him and then a slight breeze took it—billowing with an opal iridescence. In the dim room, it reflected a strange brilliance followed just as quickly by a dull, almost muted quality with the sound that filled the room—a flapping of wings.

Murata was tempted to demand, "Shinou, are you absolutely sure about this?" but had his audience to consider and knew that the proud Original King would never second guess himself once he had a plan in motion.

He had always been that way.

Shinou's palms glowed with pulsating radiance, flowing from him to the gray curtain of power. His lips moved in silence, but the sage knew and watched. He could do nothing more than be a witness to it.

Standing behind the altar, facing them, a blond woman with a long ponytail tied at the nape of her neck slowly appeared with a barn owl perched on her right shoulder. The bird with the heart-shaped face flapped its light brown wings but no sound could be heard from them. The avian cuddled up close to her ear and she nodded slowly as though the creature had spoken to her. More flapping. With a drawn-out "skree," the barn owl flew high towards the ceiling and seemingly disappeared through it. And the woman watched it with a sad expression, as though abandoned.

Murata could feel his heart sink. He knew the woman and, as for the bird, he was well informed of spirit guides—such as the barn owls—who possessed great wisdom in the upper echelon of The Planes of Existence. Though, their original homes, eons ago, were said to be near Fire Canyon in the von Bielefeld lands. That creature, very well, might have been one of those.

The woman's elegant robes were tawny and white with small patterned spots in brown from her stiff, high collar to her shoulders, fading as the material draped downward. She wore a pair of simple silver hooped earrings that went well with her washed out aquamarine eyes. A red cape, in a much simpler form than Shinou's, hung from around her neck as though an afterthought and was clasped together with a silver "Crest of the Maou" pin with black ribbons falling freely from it.

"Shinou Heika." Her voice was unfeeling and otherworldly.

He gave a serious bow to her. "It is good to see you again…Rufus."

She arched an eyebrow at that. "I would not be so sure…_husband_." She turned and looked at the others in the room and noted with a little satisfaction that a priest had just snuck his way out the door. He, apparently, was the only one with common sense.

Rufus' eyes were lowered. Maybe, she wasn't entirely prepared for the reality of Wolfram lying before her. Or, possibly, her heart could no longer put up such a brave front as she stared down, riveted. "Oh…my…" She appeared to almost weep at the sight of him, tears threatening to fall. "Poor thing…bless your heart." With the setting sun and a lone window at the back of the room, he seemed gaunt and his emerald eyes were half lidded.

But there was something more and something deeper than merely pity. A sense of strength—to shelter and to shield. Murata could feel it building and grew anxious.

Stepping around the body, she looked at the group assembled before her—all standing in a line. Yes, there was Shinou and he got the greeting he deserved. "And…_your_ sage," Rufus stated flatly. Her eyes took him in as Murata's glasses flashed, partially hiding his expression. Clearly, there was no need for introductions there. She turned to Gwendal and Conrad. "Brothers of my child," she said and got a strange look from everyone—everyone except Shinou. "No friend of my child," Rufus went on in a tone of dissatisfaction making Günter miserable at his mention. From his expression, Yuuri could guess that his advisor wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Yuuri decided it was time to step forward and introduce himself, but Rufus beat him to it. "Yuuri…Heika." And there was a definite thread of disapproval in just speaking his name.

Wrong. Something felt so wrong.

From his studies with Günter, Yuuri had learned that Rufus von Bielefeld was said to be a powerful spirit and one of the most revered historical figures in the country's history. (Anissina even had a modest shrine set up to her in the adjoining room to her lab.)

Legend had it that, back in her day, Rufus was insightful, shrewd, and loyal while acting in her duties as Shin Makoku's first chief spy. On the battlefield, no one could wield fire better and she fought ruthlessly to protect her king—always supporting him, always saying "Of course, we'll win!" She later symbolized the devoted wife to Shinou and loving mother to their twin sons—born after the death of the king—leaving her to guide the country until they were of age.

This young blond Mazoku standing before Yuuri did, indeed, resemble the images of Rufus—seen in various portraits and etchings throughout the castle—all of which had been made during different periods in her lifetime and showed her aging gracefully as the decades slowly passed. The ghostly woman who was now watching him with hollow eyes seemed to be roughly Wolfram's age. Exactly why that was, he didn't know.

She turned to Shinou, the loose strands of blond hair around her face moving as though under water, "Why have I been asked to come to this place?" Her words had been phrased precisely, letting Shinou know that she had come of her own free will and not because she was "summoned" by a king, albeit a husbandly king.

Shinou pulled his red cape over his shoulder and straightened up a little more under the watchful gaze of the woman he'd briefly shared his life with. "As you can see for yourself, his soul has been torn free, in part, by a black arrow."

She looked at the free-flowing soul's glow and acknowledged it. "The arrowheads are made from dark magic houseki stones…which can only be mined by women. Quite rare even in our time, remember?" She caressed the soul lightly with one hand, feeling it. Petting it. "He should not have survived this." It was direct and insensitive, but a true statement nonetheless.

Gwendal bristled.

Her attention turned to Yuuri again. "Yes, still very much alive…for the moment." Rufus' expression remained neutral, or so it seemed. "I wonder how that was achieved?" But it was more of a statement than a question. Apparently, she already knew that Yuuri had transformed into his "Maou" form when he realized what had happened and tried to heal the crumpled body lying close to him.

But the damage had already been done.

Conrad spoke up, "I've never seen such arrows before. We recovered only twelve of them but the bodies…" He felt ill inside just from the thought of the attack and the sky filled with death raining down. And those who were struck by the arrows had gaping holes where the skin instantly rotted away from the point of arrow strike.

"I agree," Gwendal said begrudgingly, "and as far as weapons go, highly effective."

"True." Rufus nodded in agreement. "And much like cannon fire, one need not be struck directly in order to die. Proximity, to a point, would be more than enough among full blooded Mazokus." She spread her hands out as though saying that facts were facts. "But Shinou's sage will know how to dispose of such arrows now that they have been collected."

It was all Murata could do to _not jump_ at the mention of him. And he was suddenly battling with a flood of memories— flashes of recall of scenes he'd witnessed and conflicting feelings from olden days long ago. But, he'd buried many of the worst memories, the useless ones. Or, at least, he'd told himself he had because dwelling had no point. Didn't he once say, **"**The past is the past. We cannot indulge ourselves in memories and destroy the present"? Those seemed to be pretty words now—especially if he could not bring forth fortitude.

Murata made a fist at his side. He had to put a reign on himself and quickly if he was going to be of any help to anyone.

"But can you heal him?" Shinou put directly.

A slow, cat-like blink. "Why?"

"What do you mean by 'why'?" Yuuri asked incredulously, suddenly jumping into the conversation. This was bordering on the ridiculous. "That's why we're here…to save Wolfram. We have to!"

The woman easily ignored his words and, instead, focused on Shinou once more. "Give me my child." She made a small gesture to Wolfram and, again, an uncomfortable silence reigned.

_Child?_ Yuuri thought. _What child?_ _Yes, Shinou, Rufus, and Wolfram all resemble each other. But that is only natural. _

"I'm sorry but... You're mistaken. Wolfram isn't…" Conrad tried to explain gently and only got a faint glance in his direction telling him to be quiet.

Muata Ken cringed inwardly as he looked down at his feet, now realizing everything. And he felt nothing but distain. _How could you have done this?_ he thought, biting his lip to keep himself from blurting the words out. _Of course, she would know. Of course, she would…!_

Her hands touched and caressed the cape-like soul again. "Such a young soul…with such damage…No longer as bright and as beautiful as it once was." Her voice dropped to a whisper, words meant for herself. "Tattered…torn… An agony to see."

Accusations. Softly spoken…

"Decisions had to be made," Shinou defended, sparks of anger in his blue eyes which did not intimidate her at all. Shinou had lost his hold over her the moment she died—and, bound by sorrow, she literally loved him until she was freed by death. Autonomy was her ideal now and with it brought new perspective.

"Without my knowledge…or consent…" She raked her fingers through her bangs. "But such is the Original King's will."

"One son is with you… Isn't that enough?" Shinou asked, looking up at the ceiling as though he could see the Heavenly Plane. Hadn't he been generous?

Murata felt sick because he had guessed right—absolutely right. And the others in the room could only stand there in shock. Wolfram von Bielefeld was more than just a spoiled "ex-prince." Apparently, he had been a prince in a previous life as well, one of Shinou's sons.

"Also a decision made by you… Which child I may keep and which child I may watch over."

Shinou's mouth became a thin line as she spoke and then he replied tersely, "Back to the point… Can you or can you not mend him?"

"Mend?" Gwendal said under his breath to Conrad. "Our brother is a person, not a doll. And he is _our brother_…no matter who he was in a previous life."

"I'm still having difficulty believing it," Conrad returned in a low tone, a hand to his aching head.

This time, Rufus touched the free-flowing soul as though it were fine silk cloth—examining it closely and running her slim fingers along the edges. Rufus had been a skilled designer in her day, creating all of her own disguises for her missions. "Frayed… imperfect…" she murmured with a discouraged shake of the head. "Damage from this day…from this _life_…" and she looked up from her work to meet eyes with Yuuri again, making him tug at his collar uncomfortably. "It would be far simpler to free the soul from this body." She lifted her head and met eyes with Murata while still speaking to Shinou. "After all, your sage has such knowledge. And he has done it before."

Murata took a step back, memories flooding him once more. The Original Sage meeting Shinou for the first time under the tree—_their_ tree. The words, "…But nothing good will come from associating with me." Soushu's overwhelming presence and determination to spread chaos. The toll it took on Shinou's body. His pain. So much pain. The plan and the lies they told or, rather, half-truths. Rufus' voice: "Certainly, my husband's condition will change." And the answer, "In time."

And it did change. But not for the better and, certainly, not what the Original Sage had implied.

Her tear-streaked face and the words, "I'm pregnant."

The long haired sage had not counted on that. It had never even entered his mind. Apparently, The Original King had plans that even he, as co-conspirator, did not know about.

"You're being cruel," Shinou admonished, now approaching the gray barrier a bit too closely for Murata's liking.

"Cruel?" The word echoed in an ethereal fashion. A drop of water splashed from a crack in the ceiling. Yes, a gentle rain was falling now making nightfall seemingly that much quicker. "I can only speak the truth…the words that can stand on their own." A pained smile from her. "For is that not what you taught me?"

Shinou's eyes hardened. She was directly quoting part of a speech he'd given at the banquet following the castle's ground breaking ceremony.

Conrad approached humbly, bowing to her. "Please save my brother. Please save Wolfram." His voice was rich, pleading and Conrad rarely spoke in such a way.

"Henry," she corrected in a voice so much like Wolfram's. "He is my child, Henry."

"In this lifetime, he is Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld," Murata explained, "just as I am Murata Ken."

Gwendal rested his hands on his hips, finding this part of the conversation drifting into what he was much more comfortable with—naming. "I think we can all agree that the person lying here before us is in need of help…of healing…regardless of what name he goes by now. Since we are unable to do it," and Gwendal gestured to his party, "we…sincerely beg for your help and guidance, Dear Queen of Shin Makoku." The last part of his statement had been worded in the high, formal Mazoku tongue and he had given his most genuine, heartfelt plea to her. If she was anything like her reputation, Rufus would, at least, hear him out.

"I see..." She scratched her cheek lightly, slightly uncomfortable with her old title of 'queen,' Murata noted. "Well said, older brother of my child." Then, she turned to The Original King again. "But, I am sure, that you are well aware that all magic comes at a price." She made a sweeping gesture to the boundary of the magic circle. "Even making _this_ required the right earthly mixes and your sage taking a sip of your power."

Yuuri felt confused about the "sip" part but everyone else in the room seemed to understand —including Günter. So, he decided to ask him later.

"So, as my spirit guide reminded me…any assistance that I choose to give must come at a price—an appropriate price—and I have only until sunrise to complete the task."

_Spirit guide?_ Murata thought_. I was right!_ _It was the owl after all._

"But, should I fail to complete the task…he dies. Should I decide to do nothing…he dies." Faded aquamarine eyes looked to Shinou with sorrow and strength. "In both instances, I can carry his soul with me to the Heavenly Plane. So, explain why I should try my best to keep him in this place and time…to endure more of _this_ life?"

Yuuri felt confused. Wolfram was usually very healthy. He had a lot of attention, beautiful clothes, horses in the stable, and he spent money without a thought of old age. He was beautiful, well built from what Yuuri could see in the baths, and had an ideal life in an ideal place. No one could ask for better. Wolfram's welfare wasn't even worth worrying about.

"Because…" Shinou stated with certainty, "…it is not his time."

_He's twisted her arm_, Murata thought. _Even after all this time, he can still manage to do that._

Rufus understood his words and showed hesitation for the first time. She looked down at her laced fingers, twisting them slightly.

"And…it is Yuuri Heika's wish," Shinou added to spur her on. "It is the king of this land's wish," he argued softly before Rufus could raise a counterargument to it. "To disobey would mean to defy all…to ignore that which has come before…when, instead, we can raise a hand against that which has been wrought in evil."

The black arrowheads, he meant.

Murata remembered the shape of her face. Shinou, exhausted from battle, had just fallen asleep beneath a tree and was being carried out of the night air and into his tent. Rufus, with a ball of glowing light in her palm, was merrily leading the way. Over her shoulder, she smiled briefly at the men following her, trust in her eyes.

But, once that trust was taken away, it never returned.

This time, Rufus seemed to make up her mind, a begrudging acceptance that easily mirrored Wolfram's when frustrated. "Fine, then. I accept the task but I also seek out a price for doing so." She turned to Yuuri. "Do you concur?"

"Yes! Of course! Anything you want…" the double black agreed with the words just tumbling out of him as Günter shouted a very distinct "Heika, no!" He tugged uselessly at a black sleeve while Rufus' expression was a very simple "How right I was about him." She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder with a crooked grin slowly coming to her, watching the over-the-top display.

"_Heika_!" Günter moaned melodramatically, his pathetic voice filling the room, "You have no idea what you've just done!"

"Günter, please…" Conrad said gently, trying to calm the man down.

"Yes," Gwendal barked, feeling the pressure, too, "settle down!" He didn't need the white caped advisor's words to remind him that Yuuri had a nasty habit of diving into situations first and then learning of the consequences much later on. Wolfram's engagement to Yuuri was a prime example.

The ghostly lady put a hand to her head in Wolframish fashion. "Most definitely… You, Yuuri Heika, agreed to a price without hearing of the terms first." Was this person really wise enough to become a king? "I could have asked for anything…from a handful of blessed moonstones to a century from your lifespan." She took Yuuri in with her cold, aquamarine eyes. "I could even ask…for your life in place of his…"

Hearing this, Gwendal had to be restrained by Conrad or things would have gotten worse—so very much worse.

The double black swallowed thickly. This was for Wolfram. This was for his loyal companion—who saw the arrow coming and shoved him out of the way behind a supplies wagon. Yuuri was rubbing his bottom and complaining bitterly when he noticed that Wolfram was not moving and an arrow was stuck into the ground a foot away from him, glowing with a black miasma spreading out.

He said solemnly, "If it's for Wolfram, then I agr…"

"It is a fortunate thing for you that I am not a vengeful spirit," Rufus interrupted followed by a maternal wag of the finger in his direction. "In future, Yuuri Heika, I would advise you to study Lord von Voltaire's etiquette much more closely and to learn the skill of negotiation as well as good manners in this land and you shall not get yourself into so much trouble."

The voice sounded like Wolfram nagging. And Yuuri felt horribly nostalgic at it—so much that it almost hurt.

She stepped behind the altar once more and placed her hands on the small of Wolfram's back. "The truth is that I ask for none of those things…as they would cause me to be sent back to 'Purification' so that I may, once more, be worthy to enter the Heavenly Realm."

Murata looked away. _She experienced that…? But she was, in life, such a good person._

Purification was a process that souls went through when they were not ready for the Heavenly Plane. It was a hard, tedious, and miserable existence for a soul—the act of purging all of one's impurities, sins, and resentments bit by bit. Murata had been through it twice, very briefly, himself. _Dreadful…_

"Two hundred and thirty-three years," Rufus murmured, "I suffered there. But, thanks to my spirit guides, I emerged a better woman…wiser…"

_But faded…washed out,_ Murata thought. _Even your eyes aren't the same._

For the first time, Shinou threw her a look of apology and she returned it with a wan smile.

"All I ask is to speak to my son once I am finished. I believe that this is a fair price for my toil."

"Sure," Yuuri said with eagerness, hoping that his positive attitude would help smooth things over. It usually did. Shinou seemed undecided at first but, thinking it over, gave a slight shrug to her price with Murata doing his best to stay out of it. The other three appeared to be visibly relieved and the atmosphere in the room lightened considerably.

"Then, as all are in agreement, I shall begin," Rufus said.

The woman removed both of her silver hoop earrings and fired the metal into her right palm—a marble-sized fireball hot enough to soften but not liquefy. She softly blew air onto her hand to cool and then her fingers began to stretch and twist the metal into straight pins. The pins were placed on the altar as she began to unfasten the clasp to her silver "Crest of the Maou" pin with the opposite hand. And, expertly, she opened it.

"I am no longer in need of this." The cape fell to the floor and disappeared in a fine spray of red dust.

With a thoughtful frown, Rufus examined the pin's clasp and hovered her hand over it—making it hot, too, and easily breaking it off. Her thumb worked the thicker end and she managed to make an eye for the needle. "If I require more pins, I will use this," she decided, putting the remnants of the broken maou pin onto the stone altar.

Murata noticed that Shinou wasn't exactly pleased about Rufus breaking the sacred "Crest of the Maou" pin, but had no right to stop her, either. A bargain was a bargain.

"If you are all going to remain here, I would suggest finding a chair and a good book to read. This may take until sunrise…if it can be done at all." Rufus didn't bother looking up. She was at work—lovingly smoothing out and pinning body and soul together. Her face was much kinder now and her movements flowed. Her tone was tender and soothing as she hummed songs to Wolfram—the very same songs that Wolfram had taught Greta long, long ago.

Yuuri took the chair Conrad offered him and listened with rapt attention as Rufus moved on to the next song, humming again in a voice so very much like Wolfram's that it was unnerving. A female version of Wolfram that was strong but ill-treated somehow.

And a heart beyond anyone's touch.

* * *

><p>Günter was being seated in a modest chair offered by the priest when Conrad suddenly nudged Gwendal. He motioned with his eyes and his older brother followed, noting the same thing with some surprise. Rufus grabbed another fistful of blond hair near her right cheek and pulled hard, tearing out strands and making popping noises as the pieces broke free. The strands were rolled between her palms, and then spun and stretched by a magic glow from her fingers. A fine golden thread floated, fluttering in the breeze as it was being threaded through the eye of the needle. Rufus knotted the opposite end and gave the thread a simple tug to test strength—her strength which would soon become his.<p>

The pain was worth it, was always worth it.

So much effort to be born…

And so much effort to die…

But to live…? That took the most because the people around you depended on you. And Rufus understood that. With every stitch, she gave him her all. She gave him a second chance.

Günter, at some point, had fallen asleep with his head leaning against the wall uncomfortably. Yuuri and Conrad were having a quiet, banal discussion over something related to Earth while Gwendal watched the sky with growing concern. Sunrise would be soon and Rufus seemed to be still at work—stitching with an unhurried, even pace.

From where he was standing, Gwendal noticed that Murata had not moved far from his original spot and Shinou hadn't, either. Though, he had not expected them to tire from waiting in place for so long, he was mildly surprised to see that they had not spoken a word to each other for hours.

At the other end of the room, Murata slowly turned his head, put on a smile, and gave a short wave. Clearly, he knew that he was being watched.

He always did.

"D-Do you know how much longer it's going to take?" Yuuri asked, drawing attention from everyone as he did so. Even Günter woke at the question. "I mean," the double black went on awkwardly as he leaned in his seat toward the window, "it seems like the sky isn't so dark anymore."

"And, now, the king is an astronomer," Rufus whispered to herself, not liking the idea of being rushed. She said in a louder voice, "I am sewing the final stitches as I speak. Do not distract me…any of you." Her eyes flew up from the work briefly, warning them. Her serious tone only added emphasis.

Yuuri put a hand behind his head nervously and agreed with an embarrassed "yeah."

She sighed as she stitched with a slight shake of the head, too. "I know what you would want to say," Rufus whispered to Wolfram, needle pressing down. "And I'll say it for you… He is a wimp."

She glanced to her pile of straight pins which were once her earrings and the immaculately crafted maou pin which others held so much respect for. Only now, in this time, did those material things have any meaning or any purpose.

And, that purpose, was quickly coming to an end.

The thread was sewn through and back, making a simple loop this time. Rufus tied off the thread by putting the needle through the loop and then pulling evenly, making the thread knot. A harder yank and a snap of the thread—breaking the needle free. The glittering gold stitching on Wolfram's body vanished into nothingness. The only evidence of her work came from the pinpricks of blood on the skin's surface.

Rufus smiled at her efforts, pinning the needle into her left sleeve as a souvenir of her moment with him. Out of habit, she tried to touch Wolfram and her hand went through him. The aquamarine eyes grew sad again. She could no longer touch Wolfram. He was, once again, part of the flesh-time and was beyond her reach.

It seemed so unkind in a way…after everything.

Yuuri, seeing this, asked those around him, "Does this mean he will be okay?"

Everyone had gotten to their feet by this point, looking at Wolfram and trying to decide for themselves whether or not this was true. And they were visibly relieved when Wolfram began to breathe deeper and his fingers moved slightly.

Wolfram was always restless.

Green eyes blinked. They felt incredibly dry and itched at the corners. He rubbed them and struggled to get into a sitting position while Rufus looked on and smiled sadly, the frayed and ripped strands of her hair caressing her face.

"Wolf!" Yuuri said, beaming brightly. But Shinou put a stop to anything more, placing a palm out and insisting upon silence. This was Rufus' turn—the payment.

Wolfram sat up a little more and his attention was drawn to the person standing close to him and, as expected, he was amazed to see Rufus there. She was everything that the legends had told and his eyes only widened when a barn owl seemingly soared out of nowhere and perched lightly on her shoulder. The bird, too, appeared to be very interested in him and actually winked.

The fire wielder reached a hand out to touch her face, to convince himself that she was real, but Rufus took a step back shyly and the bird flapped silently in approval.

"Please listen to my words, my child…for, I have not much time," Rufus said affectionately. Unwittingly, she had knotted her fingers together out of nervousness as she glanced toward the window.

"Of course." The words were spoken reverently. Rufus had Wolfram's full attention, for she had called him "my child" and meant it wholeheartedly. He could tell that much and it felt good, an honor.

Wolfram looked into her eyes, asking her to continue. And, to that, she nodded with relief.

"Long have I watched over you and you have made me incredibly proud." Her voice filled the room and she smiled at him maternally. Wolfram had, at this moment, no idea what he really meant to her. But there was simply no time—no time at all to speak the words. "But, it is important that you come to understand something else…something important." Rufus' eyes floated to Yuuri and then back again. "My child… While love and loyalty are admirable qualities, when they are one-sided, pain is the only possible outcome. But it is not too late to take another road…to choose another path."

The bird began to flap its wings as the first rays of sunrise touched the sky, brightening the midnight sky into a light blue.

She knew this and did not need to be reminded again.

"Don't be like me," she pleaded as her image became bleached and colorless, a woman of watercolor. "Never be…like me."

With that, her soul was taken up and lifted through to the sky. The avian swiftly followed, acting as her shield and protector. And Wolfram, with admiration in his heart, witnessed it all.

Murata stood awkwardly along with everyone else in the room—everyone except Yuuri, who seemed to not understand what had just happened and that, alone, was somewhat astonishing.

_Time to put an end to this._

"Well," the sage began, "I think it is safe to say that we no longer need this." He approached the gray curtain, stepped on the outer edge of the magic circle with his right foot, and got what felt like a nasty static shock through his body. _Damn, that hurts!_ he thought, but just barely kept that one to himself. He patted down his flyaway hair.

A deep, hearty chuckle.

Murata glanced over at Shinou who seemed a bit amused by that zapping sound and his jerked reaction. Still, it had to be done and the only one to do it was him.

Being the "Great Sage of Shin Makoku" wasn't all fun and games, despite the reputation. And he had a feeling that the bad times were still waiting for him around the corner. But such was life. Instead of dwelling on it, he'd look forward to his next life—one where he'd have no memory of Shinou, Shin Makoku's history, lost lovers or children or anything else. What a relief that would be—to no longer be a living history book, but to just be _himself_.

Murata kicked the circle's dust a little more, clearing a wider gap to be walked through—just in case. He could see Wolfram situating himself to get down from the sandstone altar only to hiss in pain, suddenly cradling his right arm in his left.

"Wolfram? Are you hurt?" Conrad asked, his worry returning to him as he approached.

The blond shook his head slightly. "Nothing I can't handle," he remarked quietly as he took in his surroundings for the first time and, absently, offered his left hand to Gwendal, silently asking for assistance down.

"This is great," Yuuri said to Günter only to get an odd look.

Gwendal went through the perimeter, entered the circle, and took his baby brother by the left forearm—giving him a hand down. And, before the young blond Mazoku could shiver, he placed his green army officer's great coat over his shoulders with the words "stay warm."

Wolfram gave a brief, wan smile and followed dutifully behind Gwendal, still cradling his right arm. He didn't look at anyone—he simply followed, feeling naked as the wind touched his aching, bare legs.

They were outside now and Murata intentionally hung back to watch.

There was a salute by one of Gwendal's men as their group was leaving. He stood along the stepping stone path that stretched from the stone temple framed by pines down to the dirt road. There was an ornately styled coach—one of the von Voltaire coaches—and a whole platoon of well-armed army soldiers along with some of the locals who were preparing horses and wagons for their return to Blood Pledge Castle.

"Sir," he said as he addressed Gwendal, "we have recovered Yuuri Heika and Lord von Bielefeld's horses and personal effects. A quick gesture to a junior officer and, almost instantly, a white shirt and a pair of neatly folded blue trousers now rested in the man's hands. These were Wolfram's. "It was suggested to bring this and the coach to you as soon as possible."

The suggestion, in all likelihood, had come from Yozak.

"And the remaining Big Cimaron Wraith Mercenaries…?" Gwendal demanded to know.

The officer worked hard to keep a hold on his emotions as he handed over Wolfram's clothing with the utmost respect. "Killed two more of our men with concealed weapons before we were able to capture the last five of them. The bodies are being brought back now as we speak. The prisoners are being held for interrogation."

"And what of Yozak?" Conrad asked, needing to know now. Sometimes, he could be as pushy as his older brother.

"Guarding the prisoners but should really be on the wounded list as he has a gash on his right arm."

"Thank you," Gwendal said, "Dismissed." And, then, he turned to his brother and said in a quieter tone, "I'm sure it is a pretty deep 'gash.' Typical of him, though. He doesn't know when to quit." As an afterthought he added, "But I suppose that makes you two of a kind."

"I suppose," Conrad shrugged back but with relief regarding their favorite spy.

Conrad helped Wolfram by holding the green military coat. And the blond turned away from everyone slightly in order to get dressed. The shirt was the first thing Wolfram put on and shivered before putting the coat over his shoulders again. Apparently, that extra layer of material wasn't enough to keep him warm. Murata noticed Wolfram as he stretched a leg and put it into the first trouser leg. Yes, the bruising was starting and the bloodied spots were still there. The fire wielder seemed to hurry to get the other leg in and to pull up his pants before anyone else could notice. But, beyond embarrassment, there was something else—something that the others were feeling, too.

Well, most of them.

The coachman, in regal dress, opened the door and made a sweeping gesture towards the interior of the cab. He bowed deeply, as was his duty, and waited…and waited… A little curious, he looked up. What was taking them so long?

Yuuri turned towards Wolfram. "Okay, Wolf. Get in."

The blond looked down at his bare feet, his face ashy, and, Murata could tell, the fire wielder was working hard to simply stand without wobbling. "I…do not think that would be appropriate."

"Aw, come on Wolf," Yuuri half-whined. "It has been a long night. Just get in, okay? They're taking care of our horses and no one's expecting you to ride back to the castle. It's gonna be…two hours or something. Just do us all a favor and get in."

Wolfram turned his face up to Gwendal, giving a "help me out here" vibe to him that was easily understood. And, just before he spoke, Murata cheerfully joined in with, "Let's just cut to the chase. You and I will get in and the others will follow." He pretended to have a great interest in the interior of the coach, pushing his glasses up on his face with a finger and peering into the dark cab. "Besides, I've never been in this coach before and it smells nice—like cinnamon rolls."

He gave the double black a brotherly shove inside.

"You're weird, Murata," Yuuri said as he disappeared within. "I don't know what's gotten into you."

Now that the two of them were on board, Wolfram sighed openly and stepped forward with Gwendal, once again, giving him a hand. From the way he ducked as he entered, it was clear to all that the blond was fatigued. But, no matter. He simply soldiered on as usual.

Yuuri sat by the window, as was his habit, with Murata and Conrad next to him. Sitting opposite of Yuuri was Wolfram, whose face was getting more of the gentle breeze blowing on it from the window, with Gwendal and Günter sitting next to him.

Under the coat, the blond was still cradling his arm. It hurt so badly.

Gwendal could hear the coachman climbing aboard and he gave two distinct raps—letting the man know it was time to move on. And the coach did. It lurched suddenly and Wolfram gritted his teeth again. Every bump in the road made him cringe. And, after a time, he didn't bother holding back the sounds of pain.

"Take off the coat and let me see," Gwendal ordered, leaving no room for argument.

Weakly, he tried but needed assistance to do it. Apparently, it was easier to get dressed than undressed. A feeble "sorry" followed with Wolfram saying, "I guess…I fell at some point…maybe. One minute, I was standing near a cart…arrows falling…I think… The next minute, I woke up back there." He put a hand to his head, confused and in pain. "I don't know what happened to my clothes, either."

"We had to deal with what was left of your clothes," Conrad put gently, "because we needed to check for injuries. The black arrows had a way of deteriorating anything the miasma touched. That included the material in your clothes, too."

Wolfram didn't really understand it and it didn't matter. Another bump in the road made the blond inhale sharply, head tilted back.

A green glow came from Gwendal's palm, hovering over Wolfram's arm. "I can't tell if it is a hairline fracture or a bad sprain."

Yuuri leaned across and suggested, "Let me try. Either way, I can probably heal him." It seemed like such a simple gesture and would be a way to repay the debt he owed from being saved from the black arrow.

Again, everyone looked at him strangely and Wolfram, especially, seemed to react as though they were perfect strangers.

"Thank you for the offer, but I don't think that's necessary," the blond said. He, then, focused his attention out the window—hoping to latch on to something other than the horrible feelings inside of him.

"Let me try this," Gwendal proposed, "and see how you feel." He focused his eyes and concentrated. The green glow from his hands grew richer in color and Wolfram's body, immediately, collapsed against the wall of the cab. His green eyes were closed in relief and the expression devoid of any pain.

"Wolf!" Yuuri cried only to have Conrad tell him it was fine. Murata backed him up.

"Impressive," Günter praised quietly. "I had no idea you could block discomfort so well." Then a thought struck. "How long can you keep it up?"

Gwendal repositioned the arm into something more natural as Wolfram slept soundly with heavy breathing coming out at an unusually slow pace. "At this level? Probably an hour."

Günter understood and looked up toward the heavens. Maybe, with this, he could atone and Rufus would forgive him a little for being so short tempered with Wolfram. "Well, when you fatigue, I will do the last hour of the trip. Blocking pain is one of my talents."

And, for that, he got a look of thanks. Yuuri, on the other hand, seemed confused. Why wouldn't they, at least, let him try?

* * *

><p>Wolfram had been escorted to the infirmary by both of his brothers while Yuuri soaked in the Royal Bath. He returned to his room, trying to decide whether to get dressed for the day or to take a nap, when there was a knock at his door. Curious, he went to open it only to find Murata standing there with two narrow wine glasses of ruby port, half filled.<p>

Yuuri looked left and right. There was no sign of anyone else.

_That's odd._

He stood back and let his best friend enter the room, still wondering what was going on.

"What's the wine for?" he asked with a crooked smile. "Isn't it a little early in the day for that?" He padded after Murata once he'd closed the door. "Besides, you know that I really don't drink."

"Oh, I thought you'd like to celebrate," he said mysteriously, rotating the glass in his right hand and watching the fluid sparkle invitingly inside. "So, I had a kitchen servant get something for us. And look what we have here." The smile broadened on the sage. "Do you know that port is considered a very sexy wine? Only the most…" and he winked in Yuuri's direction "…_interesting_ parties serve port."

"Celebrate?" Yuuri almost laughed at the word. After all they'd been through in the past twenty-four hours, the thought seemed ludicrous. Then again, Murata could think along strange lines sometimes. But that was the way he was—even on most days. Maybe it was that ambiguity in him that was part of their bond. Yuuri could only shake his head in wonder sometimes.

"It's over."

The sage offered him a chilled glass and, without giving it much thought, Yurri took it. He stared down into the liquid for a moment—the scent of black currant coming to him—and then he looked back up at Murata's face. "What do you mean, Murata? I don't get you."

"Evidently…you don't." Murata went over to the bed, sat on the edge of Wolfram's side, and bounced a little—making the drink slosh in his hand. It was fun. "You know that T-shirt that says, 'Despite the look on my face, you keep talking'? Well, today was like that, wasn't it? The looks people were giving you…"

Yuuri took a seat beside him and the bed dipped a little more. "Okay, now I am totally lost."

Murata took a small sip of wine and tasted it on his tongue. "Yes, that's just about right. You lost something today and you didn't even notice."

Yuuri sniffed his drink but didn't bother with it. "Murata, just tell me…whatever it is. What are we supposedly losing…or celebrating?"

"Your freedom..."

"Eh?"

Murata stretched out on the bed, on his side—his left palm against his cheek and the drink in the opposite hand. He looked up at Yuuri. But his smile never reached his eyes. "In two or three days from now, I'd expect to see a formal letter…dissolving your engagement to Lord von Bielefeld."

Yuuri's black eyebrows pushed together. "Wolfram? Why?" the double black asked, leaning in. "What did I do to make him that mad?" He stood up and paced the floor a little, thinking everything over. "Then again, now that we're talking about it… It did seem like I made just about everyone mad at me today…somehow… Or, maybe, 'mad' really isn't the right word for it."

_Ah, so you did sense something was wrong after all, Shibuya._

"It was kind of weird. One minute everything was fine and then…"

The sage kicked his legs a little, casually so. "I'm sorry to say this, Shibuya, but it's not as simple as that." He pushed himself up on his elbow a bit more and got comfortable. "You see, Rufus has spoken against you. She disapproves of you being with Lord von Bielefeld… No one, not even Shinou, will go against her on this." Then, his face grew a little sad. "Besides, Shinou owes her too much to defy her will on this topic."

Yuuri remembered back to her final words and Wolfram's expression. _Oh! Oh!_

Wolfram had understood.

"But this is what you'd wanted all along. So, congrats." Murata raised his glass and kept his face even. "Your embarrassing…_mortifying_…engagement is over and my best guess is that Lord von Bielefeld won't come within a mile of this room…_ever again_." He tasted his wine again, eyes closed for a moment to savor the flavor. "Good riddance…right?"

There was a long silence and Murata sliced Yuuri a curious look.

"I…don't know what to do," Yuuri murmured into his drink as he took a tiny sip and wrinkled his nose distastefully at it.

"Ah, but that's the best part," the sage went on, turning the drink lightly in his hand, "you don't have to do anything. The official paper will be filed away and you will be free and clear to be with anyone you choose." Murata laughed to himself and added with mirth, feeling his drink now, "And so can he."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

.

.

The communication of the dead is tongued with

fire beyond the language of the living.

**~T. S. Eliot**

.

It was the second night after Wolfram's recovery. He wore his best uniform and favorite boots, polished to perfection with a high gloss. As he passed servants in the halls, they noticed him and wondered where he was going. It seemed too soon for him to be dressed up and venturing out on his own. One of Gwendal's men slipped away, walking casually to his commanding officer's office who would, in all likelihood, report this to Gwendal.

It didn't matter. Wolfram knew what he wanted to do and felt the restless need to do it. This went beyond a simple whim, compulsion, or sense of duty. And, despite his own physical aches and pains, he knew that this was viable if he applied enough effort into it.

And he would.

Out in the fresh night air, Wolfram von Bielefeld strode with purpose out onto the practice field where his men always gathered to hone their skills. The castle was behind him now—lights in the windows from oil lamps and flickering candles. There were shadows, too, and possibly a few more than usual on this particular night.

He was being watched by the curious, the envious, the steadfast, and the lusty. But it could not be helped, either. And it didn't bother him in the slightest.

Wolfram glanced at the constellations—pinpricks in the sky—and, using them, he knew exactly where Bielefeld Castle was. He positioned his body and gaze into that direction and began his fire dance—in honor of the one who had saved him.

He took a breath and let it out slowly. Stretching his arms wide with palms down, he then pulled his arms roughly to his sides as a wall of flame shot up magnificently behind him and then twisted into the name "Rufus" in perfect Mazoku script with a rush and a deep roar.

Yes! He'd done it. Wolfram gritted his teeth into a proud grin.

This was for her. No one had thanked her for her work, Wolfram assumed, and it was a shame. But motherhood was often like that—the expectation of self-sacrifice without thanks, endless toil without gratitude and appreciation. But, during their summer ceremonies, von Bielefelds _did_ thank their ancestors and had a way of doing it as was true to their natures. Doing it like this.

"My child…" She had called him that and more according to Gwendal.

Hers.

She watched over him. Wolfram knew it now without a doubt.

The flames died away and there were little clapping sounds coming from the castle behind him. He had an audience. But that wasn't the one he was focusing on.

Wolfram put two fingers to his temple and began his typical chant to create a fire lion only to have _two_ appear immediately flanking each side without effort! He blinked incredulously at that. To see if it would work, he balled his fists and the lions grew unbelievably bright and hot—again without exerting much power on his part.

Wolfram gasped at it. How it was happening, he didn't know. But it was good to know.

The dance continued.

A lunge with his palm extended and golden fire blossomed forth.

Wolfram made a sweeping gesture with one shoulder forward at an angle, called an "epaule," and the lions raced into the air, growling menacingly. And, then, high above the grounds, they exploded into bursts of white light, brightening everything around him. He straightened and made intricate hand motions, creating a brief waterfall of fire behind him before extinguishing it.

More fire appeared in the sky. Wolfram was distracted by his own shadow for the briefest second but pushed on—his left leg swinging from front to back gracefully, arms extending again—and, as the light began to fade, Wolfram understood.

Wolfram swayed and made a spray of candle flames around him with his fingertips. He danced to a rhythm made by his heart and soul. The arm movements were perfectly timed—things taught to him by tutors and well-loved by his Bielefeld relatives when he was younger. There was also a new found strength there in his legs as he kicked off from the ground and flames shot forward once more above his head, blasting fire into the sky magnificently as a shooting star.

He laughed and his heart and soul felt lighter—brighter.

Wolfram had new stamina in his body and element. He created a ball of light in his palm and bowed and straightened, split it in two with half a thought, and brought them from low to high in brightness. One flew to his right and the other his left, stretched out, arced, and joined seamlessly—making a golden, glowing ring around him. With a second flow of warmth coming from him, the ring became a pulsating blue.

Wolfram punched the sky—

Right.

Left.

From each fist, fire blazed upwards toward the stars and, once more, everything around Wolfram lit up.

There was a general murmuring behind him—all deeply impressed, apparently—and the claps grew louder. The fire wielder pursed his lips. This was his way of showing gratitude. He was not showing off. Then again, with his newly discovered strength, he could understand the commotion he was making.

Even if he didn't like it.

More sweeping movements of his arms as he locked his legs and bent his body back. A song suddenly came to him and he began to sing it softly to himself, bringing his, now, blazing hands closer to his heart and there was a gasp from the crowd. Did they really think he'd be foolish enough to set himself ablaze?

Probably so.

Again, he blocked them out and straightened up with a burst of light coming from his fingertips, making the blue fire ring disappear. Wolfram took three running steps and then brushed the right leg in front, leapt up and then forward—landing on his right foot with the left extended behind him. A fire arch blazed with Wolfram in the middle. And he was surrounded by a flurry of burning embers. Red fireflies glowing against pale skin and golden hair.

He looked up at the sky. He was smiling—truly glad.

Wolfram von Bielefeld had become a true and noble fire lord—not because of a title inked down on a piece of parchment or because he'd inherited an element from Lady Cheri, but because of a precious gift from the strongest fire wielder who had ever lived.

And, now, her gift was his.

Part of him.

And, with that knowledge in his heart, Wolfram's image fell into darkness and became a shadow among the shadows. He approached the castle with a well-gathered crowd clapping and cheering for him and his amazing feats.

High above, on the private balcony, Yuuri and Murata watched the figure disappear from their sight, walking forward with hurried steps toward the castle's nearest side door. His lithe form stepped into the light and was no more.

Yuuri leaned forward on the railing with an unreadable expression as the door closed while Murata stared up at the stars, certain that Rufus was pleased with the fiery display. He could almost see her smile just as she did back in the olden days—before betrayal stole it away. Too bad pain was an excellent teacher. But some of the fault could be laid down at her feet, too, he decided. She knew she was in love with someone whose "mistress" was his kingdom and all others would hold no dearer place in his heart.

And that was the way of things.

That was the way of Shinou.

* * *

><p>This particular morning, Murata was in Yurri's office with him, keeping him company more or less. The young sage was working a crossword puzzle in English using an ink pen. "Hmmm… Let's see… Thirteen down…five letter word…'to put an end to'… That's <em>cease<em>, isn't it?"

Of course, he said it in English and Yuuri wasn't paying attention as he continued to sign a towering stack of paperwork. Then again, Yuuri didn't pay much attention to his English lessons in school, either. Not that he really needed to. He was king of Shin Makoku after all. At his last birthday celebration, he finally made a commitment to being in that role. So that made his priorities a little bit different than in the past.

Murata shifted the ink pen back and forth between his thumb and fingers, idly. Things had been too quiet around the castle this afternoon and it wasn't a good sign. Either this was the calm before the storm or gossip run amok.

_Probably, a bit of both…_

He went back to his puzzle, listening for the tramping of servant feet or soldiers. Nothing.

_Not good…_

Then, a lone sound from far away. Sure and steady footsteps heading their direction. The dark haired sage debated with himself briefly whether or not to draw Yuuri's attention to them and then decided to keep mum. "This might be interesting after all," he murmured to himself as the door opened without a single knock.

Yuuri smiled, looking up.

_Maybe he was expecting von Bielefeld_, Murata thought. _He has a habit of doing that—just showing up without knocking._

But it was Gwendal.

Gwendal eyed the room to see who was there, typical of a soldier. Murata gave a boyish shrug and a friendly smile, getting more comfortable in his chair as the administrator strode into the room with an undecipherable expression, totally unlike him. Usually, the sage could read him like a primer.

This only confirmed his suspicions.

"Gwendal. Hi!" Yuuri's enthusiasm was genuine. It was nice to have Gwendal drop by and the double black was happy to get a break from his work. Maybe, they could talk for a little bit and he could have an even bigger break. Wouldn't that be wonderful? "I didn't see you at breakfast again. Things must be busy." He left out the part where they had not seen Wolfram at breakfast, either, for days now. But, maybe, he could work that into the conversation—get Gwendal to convince Wolfram to go back to eating with everyone.

To make things better somehow…

Normal.

Instead of giving the cold shoulder, as he feared, Gwendal was here now to make things "ordinary" again and that was a start.

"May I speak with Yuuri Heika alone?" Gwendal asked Murata, but it sounded more like an order than a request.

A flicker of a smile and he started to get up.

"Is it something really important?" Yuuri asked, the smile leaving him. "I think he can stay if that's what it is. I'm fine with it."

A side look at the sage and back again. "I believe this is a conversation that should take place between the two of us." He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment—neatly folded and sealed in red wax with the mark of the von Voltaire crest.

Yuuri frowned down at it in thought as Murata slipped away with his puzzle and pen, glad to be out of the room and the heavy atmosphere. But that didn't mean he couldn't come back later. In fact, he would. Besides, the sage already knew what was going to be said—almost as though he was a fly on the wall, hearing everything.

The door closed as Yuuri broke the seal, reading the neatly penned, dry ink. "I…uh…" He didn't know what to say. He poured over the words again.

Gwendal raised an eyebrow. "Is there something that you do not understand, Majesty?" He gave a level stare, straightened his shoulders, and stood to his full height—seemingly cool and in control. But his ponytail flashed in irritation. Yuuri was taking so long to give a reaction. And it really wasn't necessary, drawing everything out.

Maybe, he needed to translate the meaning to him.

"As head of our family," Gwendal said, "and with Mother's consent," he added to cover himself, "the engagement between you and my brother has come to an end. I've been corresponding with Waltorana von Bielefeld and he understands the situation perfectly. No one in their household will object."

Gwendal didn't sound broken-up over it and Yuuri noticed that right away.

_I know Murata warned me about this. But I just didn't want to think about it…to believe… _Yuuri's fingers tightened around the parchment, wrinkling it.

As though reading the small print in a treaty, Gwendal narrowed his eyes at the young king. "As of today, the two of you are free to do as you wish…with no ties to each other," he explained sternly, "and we will make sure that Wolfram does his part in this."

"So," Yuuri said aloud, slowly coming to his own realization, "Wolfram still wants the engagement." He remembered how sad and strange the bishonen was behaving as they made their way out of the stone chapel. It wasn't just physical pain he was going through. He understood that life, as he knew it, was over.

The tall Mazoku general folded his arms against his chest. "This is not a matter of 'want' or 'not want.' This has been decided and _we_…" he emphasized that last word, "…will abide by it.

Black eyes looked up at him. "I know that's what Rufus wants." And he watched Gwendal shy away at the woman's name. "But what does Wolfram want?"

Gwendal was many things. But, first and foremost, he was a realist. He put a hand on his hip, starting to outwardly show the frustration that itched in his heart. "It no longer matters what Wolfram desires, wishes for, or fancies. The engagement has been brought to a quick and merciful end. And, frankly, there are many of us who are quite relieved."

Yuuri's jaw dropped a little at that. He just naturally assumed that everyone here was in favor and enjoyed Wolfram's antics around the castle. Everyone, Gwendal included—at least, on some level.

"His rants of 'cheater' and chasing after you…literally, chasing…" He gave a testy sigh. "Most undignified. Wouldn't you agree?"

"But," Yuuri countered, taking up Wolfram's cause, "I think he only wanted to be recognized…included in things… Not left behind…"

_Loved._

The administrator cocked his head to the side, eyeing him. "But you _did_ leave Wolfram behind…on countless occasions… Going back to Earth all of those times as an escape when you could stand it no more."

Was that how Gwendal saw things? Really?

The double black fisted the letter in his right hand. "You know the truth. He just wanted to stay by my side, Gwendal. There was no real harm in…"

An eyebrow arched. "In forcing his feelings upon you, Majesty, and then proclaiming the two of you a happy couple?" Gwendal growled. He made a pointing gesture to the open window and went on with, "Everyone out there knows and, as a result, he's the laughing stock of the court." Gwendal's eyes darkened. "And you can imagine the rumors that go on about him…everything ranging from 'reject' to wanton 'sexual harasser'."

Yuuri's eyes widened at that. "Seriously? But…"

"But…what? You, a king, ran from him in your own castle and he pursued. You wanted to sleep alone, yet he was there night after night, and you complained bitterly…to all of us." The tall Mazoku could only shake his head in disgust. How could he, as an older brother, have let the situation get so bad? "Can 'leave me alone' be interpreted from all that? I should think so." Gwendal debated openly.

A blank stare as Yuuri processed it all. Were these the things Gwendal had told Wolfram? Were they? And Wolfram idolized Gwendal as both military man and older brother. He had to have been hurt by those words. Crushed, broken. Sure, Wolfram would put up a good front, he always did, but it would never last. When the two of them were on their own together, many times the blond would drop his guard a little and say what was in his heart. There were other times when he was furious, practically spewing fire, and would shout loudly about the things that were eating at him. Yuuri preferred that "Wolfram" because the war dance would be hot and over with soon enough. And, in the end, Yuuri knew that both he and Wolfram had a better understanding of each other as a result.

"I… want to talk to Wolfram." It wasn't a request. It was a need.

Once again, Gwendal shook his head. "I wouldn't advise that," he stated as he made his way for the door. After all, he'd done his part. He could leave now and spare himself the useless whining. "For both of your sakes, Heika… It ends here. Forget him."

The double black put a hand to his head and whispered quietly, "What do I do now?" He felt so terribly alone. And there was truly no need to be. Wolfram was still here somewhere.

There had to be a way.

* * *

><p>In the stables, Wolfram gently patted the side of his white steed's face. It was almost time. "You'll stay with me, won't you?" he whispered and the horse gave a loving nod in return. It made the blond smile thinly. It was good. It convinced him. This was the way it had to be.<p>

As painful as it was…

The ex-prince ignored the little stableboy who was darting around, seemingly busy with something. He was in Wolfram's way one second and not the next.

Wolfram closed his eyes briefly, remembering for the final time where he was standing—the scent of the sweet hay, the sound of the other horses clomping in their stalls with a whiney coming from Yuuri's horse, Ao.

With reins in hand, he turned to go only to find an all too familiar shadow standing at the entrance, the brightness of the sunny day making his outline even more obvious.

"Yuuri," Wolfram sighed. This was not how he'd planned on doing this.

"What's going on?" As though he had to ask. The double black knew better, though.

The blond pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. "Look, Yuuri. I thought it would be better this way…easier." He swept his blond hair from his eyes, still thinking of what to say next. "I left a message for you with Conrad. I knew you'd understand."

"But I don't," Yuuri returned, crossing his arms against his chest.

To that, the blond gave him a non-committal hum followed by an uncomfortable silence which quickly grew between them.

"So…where are you going?" Yuuri asked, approaching Wolfram and his horse.

Green eyes fell to the ground. "Away."

The double black cocked his head to the side at that. "Just that?"

A slight shrug.

Yuuri took a step closer to the blond who had shared his bed for four years. "And how long will you be gone?"

He shook his head and said, "Conrad knows. He'll explain it all."

"But you _won't_?" Yuuri was starting to sound angry now.

Absently, Wolfram patted his horse's mane.

Yuuri made a fist. "And you'll leave Greta and me…alone…just like that?"

"Why not? You have…every time you got fed up with me and ran away to Earth." Wolfram's eyes widened when he said the words. They just slipped out before he knew what he was saying. "Sorry… I'm sorry for saying that." Yuuri was king. He could do what he wanted. "Legally, though, she really is your child now and I have no say in whatever happens."

Yuuri grew close and his dark eyes were angry. "I suppose…I deserve that. I did run away from you enough times…abandoned you knowing that you'd take good care of Greta while I was gone."

"It's time to stop playing house, huh?" Wolfram agreed, his voice dropping to a miserable pitch.

"That sounds like Gwendal, not you."

A broken smile with his face turned away. He threaded the reins through his gloved hands for a moment. "Maybe…he's right. Maybe, Rufus was right, too." He straightened up his shoulders and turned to face the double black head on. "Dreams die…and love isn't real. I think I wanted to create something that was meaningful and beautiful. But, what I could never see was that in order for my dream to be reality, I had to make your life a living Hell."

Yuuri put his hand on Wolfram's arm. "It was never that bad, Wolfram."

"Bad enough to make you run from me. Bad enough to make you run to Earth to escape. Bad enough for you to complain and beg for your own privacy." He leaned in closer to the double black. "This is your castle and your kingdom. A lesser man, a more pathetic king would have exiled me eons ago or married me off simply to rid himself of me. The truth is that while you are a kind king…you are, in fact, too kind." He shrugged Yuuri's hand off. "Gwendal has made me see where my mistakes lie and Conrad has promised to watch over you. And as much as I hate leaving…"

"You hate it." He took Wolfram into his arms, holding him tightly. "I knew it. You weren't ready to give up on me."

Despite himself, Wolfram held him back and rested a cheek on his shoulder. "Someday, maybe, we can meet again…share a cup of something good, and laugh about the years we were engaged." Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "That first year wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You're still talking as though you're leaving. Stop it."

"Yuuri," he said miserably, "I…have to."

Wolfram's white steed rolled his eyes. This dark haired one was making his blond master upset. Horses knew such things and they also knew how to easily solve the problem. In a swift, single motion, the horse shouldered Yuuri hard into the closest open horse stall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

"Yuuri!"

And, when Yuuri fell, Wolfram fell with him.

"Oof!"

"Oof!"

Fresh, sweet hay had just been put down by the stableboy and Yuuri found himself lying on his back with small pieces of the straw in his hair. Wolfram, sprawled on top, found it terribly…funny. How could he not? It was just so ridiculous. They were ridiculous, weren't they? A part of his heart melted slightly with the sheer look of surprise on the double black's face along with the hair adorned with sprigs of brassy straw. "Always such a mess, Yuuri. What will I do about this?" With nimble fingers, the bishonen began to pick away the pieces until he found one perfect for stroking a tan cheek. Torturing him with it a little could be fun and he pretended to do so.

"Stay," Yuuri ordered, wrapping his arms around Wolfram's waist, holding him down. Now, it was the blond's turn to look surprised. And the straw fell from his fingers.

"Wha-?" Green eyes glanced up and around him. "Y-Yuuri…someone may see this." A blush flushed on his cheeks. "It could cause a scandal."

A dull shrug. "Don't care."

How could he say this any more clearly? "Yuuri, you've always wanted me gone. Accept this and rejoice." Green eyes met black. "No hard feelings."

But these were lies—such obvious lies. Sometimes, when you loved someone, you lied Yuuri now realized.

"If you leave, I'll find you."

"But…" Wolfram rested his head on Yuuri's chest. It felt natural to do so as his resolve faltered. Drawing strength. He needed to do that. That warmth… "But, about Gwendal…"

"Don't care."

"And Rufus says…"

A thin smile. "Proof…"

Confused green eyes blinked back.

Yuuri propped himself up on his elbows and slowly leaned up—hesitant and shy—but determined to try. A kiss between them, innocent and comforting. Then, he stretched back on the sweet hay and allowed his hands to gently stroke Wolfram's back. "She said not to be like her. And I'm not Shinou and you're not Rufus. Our stories, our lives are completely different. You may have been a prince in another life and in this one, but that's all. 'Wolfram' is Wolfram and I am 'me.'" He caressed a pale cheek with the palm of his hand. "Stay and I promise you that we'll start over…in a better way. But I know that I'm shy…and, between us, this will take time. You'll have to accept that, though."

"So, what you're saying is that you care about me."

A kiss on the cheek and a slight nuzzle. "I…uh…I always have. It's just that I was always a…"

He didn't need to finish that thought. Wolfram could easily fill in the rest. "But being together doesn't solve all of our problems."

"Not all at once, but someday."

"Someday?" Wolfram's voice sounded a little disbelieving.

"Let me show you 'someday.' Give me a chance, Wolf…please…"

Footsteps and then a "Hello? Hello?" and Conrad's head popped into the stall. His eyes widened seeing his godson and his baby brother tangled intimately together. Wolfram had tears in his eyes and a deep blush while Yuuri's hands had drifted to the blond's lower back and upper thigh.

"I…uh…." From Conrad's face, it was clear that this was the last thing he expected.

"Conrad?" Yuuri said with a smile coming to him. "You know that message Wolfram wanted you to give to me? It's not necessary now."


End file.
